by no means
by gayzula
Summary: In which Chara dies, lives again, and loses their soul and heart in the process. All that is left now is to mourn the loss, pick up the pieces, and sloppily glue them together. a series of one-shots. part 1: swallow your grief, crown your guilt. part 2: learning how to rise and fall. part 3: kill their light.
1. swallow your grief, crown your guilt

**title:** swallow your grief, crown your guilt  
 **series:** by no means, part 1  
 **word count:** 2,273 words  
 **summary:** You keep catching glimpses of him, in your dreams - but never seeing his face. Not his face, not his eyes, he's intangible, he's a ghost. He's ashes scattered in the wind. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone.  
 _(He's ashes. You're wind.)  
_ You die, you live, he doesn't.  
 **warnings:** chara's mental state, suicide, violence, murder, a dash of gore near the end of a fic, etc. also, slight chara/asriel if you squint, but could also be platonic.  
 **author's note:** since english isn't my first language, please let me know if there are any mistakes or typos.

oOo

 **swallow your grief, crown your guilt**

oOo

Death lasts eternity - you realize - and a fracture of a moment, both at the same time.

It's an odd feeling, almost ethereal - like the deep slumber that reaches out to you, not giving you any other choice, just embracing you tightly and holding you close to its chest, offering almost a comfort of sorts; or, perhaps, a certainty - and there are also moments that remind you of travelling between one dream and another, ever on the verge of awakening, but never fully falling over that edge between the two. And, like in a dreamscape, time fluctuates, sometimes a chilly waterfall, and other times, a density of a sweet honey.

Too, like being asleep, you cannot truly remember yourself. The thoughts are swarming in a cloud - almost touchable, but only barely - and the chaos of it feeds your hunger, feeds your _rage,_ and everything is-just too much and not enough. And the core essence of you is but a thin mist, slowly fading as the morning approaches.

Sometimes, you remember bits and pieces, though they don't exactly make sense to you. Still, though, those shards are something to hold on to.

Flashes-

-ghosts of memories.

Faces - people - and lastly - words.

Names have power - hearing your own name called out - name, you didn't even remember before - grounded you in a way you have never felt before. (Or, perhaps, in a way you always felt-you can't be quite sure which of those it is.)

But it isn't until another name is heard by your mind an entire eternity later, that glues the rest of you together and makes you whole.

(At least on the surface.)

And then, the time starts making sense again - and there is burning in the emptiness, somewhere in the void, and you _know_ instantly, that there is something missing, but-

This feeling...

This burning...

It fills up the hole that was left in you. It doesn't erase the void, though - only merely connects the pieces and briefly ghosts over it, like a dream. It allows you to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out,...

... and open your eyes.

A loud exhale leaves someone's mouth - whose, you cannot quite make out, cannot quite remember - and your vision isn't sharp enough, nor is your memory, yet - then, a cry.

It takes a moment, to finally awaken, and the first thing you notice after the entire eternity (or, perhaps a mere fracture of a second) of your death is-

-you are sitting in the ashes.

In _his_ ashes.

And you keep screaming and wishing you didn't open your eyes.

oOo

They have questions, of course they do.

Were you ever expecting something else? Why?

Why did you ever think, they'd just welcome you back like nothing happened, when _you killed your own brother?_

 _(They don't know about that,_ a rational part of you thinks. _They saw you get sick and die. They saw you miraculously resurrected, as their own son was turning into nothing. Into the ashes.)_

Dust and ashes seem to be the only constant of your life.

So you tell Asgore, the story of your death, omitting the fact, that everything was your fault (You cannot force those words out of your throat, and, truly, lies roll of your tongue _so much easier.)_ You leave out your suicide, you leave out your desire to wipe out the humanity, you leave out Asriel's last wishes.

(And you wonder what would he have thought of you, if he could have heard your Lie.)

Getting, to the part where you cheated death, "there was... no sense of self," you manage. _There still isn't, not really._ "But I remembered. Somehow, I remembered my name. And _his,"_ you refuse to speak it, as if afraid that your voice, your lips, your tongue could taint it. Poison it. "Then, everything came easy. As easy as breathing..." You're unable to meet Asgore's worried gaze - not while your own eyes are empty. "I was determined to. To breathe-that is. So I did." Pause. "I did and now I'm back."

Toriel is strangely silent, but Asgore's hand is clutched in fist, and when you finally look up, his gaze is full of the same fire - grief, that you want to feel inside your heart. And you know _just the thing_ to say.

"I'm back," you say, your voice unusually firm, "and _he_ died trying to fulfil my dying wish."

"Chara..." he whispers.

"I'm back," you repeat once again, "and... _Asriel_ is gone," you say, forcing his name out of your throat, but your voice didn't quite break. Thankfully.

"It isn't your fault, my child," Toriel looks at you with those sympathetic eyes of hers, and you _hate_ her for it.

Barking out a bitter laugh, "Right," and you have to remind yourself once again, that they don't know. They. Don't. Know. "It isn't."

"Chara. It was _not_ your fault. Asriel loved you very much."

 _And that was his demise... wasn't it?_

"Yes."

"His death was the fault of the humans."

 _Myself included. Even more so than the others._

"Of course."

Somehow, they hear something in your flat voice, something you aren't sure it exists. And, instead of letting go, they push even more, "you did not raise a weapon against him," which triggers a toxic explosion, somewhere in that void inside you.

Losing control, _"I might as well have!_ He did this for me, did this _because_ of me."

"Chara," Asgore repeats himself slowly. "It was _not_ \- your fault. Asriel loved you. Very much."

And he doesn't get it - _of course he doesn't_ \- and you want him to understand, but _don't._

And you feel responsible, but you blame the villagers, and you want to kill them-no, no. No, you want to _destroy_ them. Obliterate them. Eviscerate. them. And you want to do the same to the rest of the humanity, and, to yourself.

So you tell him, "I'll avenge him," finding yourself surprised to see you believe your own words.

"You won't have to," he looks at you, and says in a quiet voice. "I am the king of this realm, and Asriel was my rightful heir. It is my duty-no, my honor-to punish those responsible and bring my son peace."

 _"Asgore!"_ Toriel gasps.

"Chara was the first human to fall, but they're one of us now. Should any of the others fall down, to the Underground as well, their fate shall not be as lucky." Then, a quiet mumble, "I won't let this burden fall on Chara's shoulders," perhaps too quiet to hear.

A sensation of a knife to a heart, when you hear his words, but you ignore the infernal battle that is taking place inside your guts. You focus on breathing, trying to make the air lighter, but it _doesn't work,_ and you think you're going to choke, and then there is yelling - " _Asgore Dreemurr! Do not dare use our son's death to justify your -_ sick _revenge on humanity! This is_ not _right, and you_ know _it!" -_ and something is swallowing your lungs whole - _"This is not just revenge, Torie," -_ into the void - _"it is_ justice _for our kind! For our hopes and dreams!" -_ and you want to make it stop - _"We are not the beasts that the humans had made us out to be!" -_ make _everything_ stop - _"The kingdom lost her prince! To humans, no less!" -_ at once - _"I will_ not _let you kill aimlessly and distance yourself from the consequences-!" -_ and you just want to breathe.

 _Consequences,_ you think, _yes,_ those are what separates us, monsters, from gods.

oOo

Toriel leaves the next day and begs you to come with her, so you ask her, "why are you defending humanity?"

She frowns. "Isn't it obvious?"

You narrow your eyes - _doesn't she find them unnerving?_ a thought flashes through your mind - and shake your head.

"Well," she tells you, eyes strangely soft, "I met _you."_

You stiffen. _"That,"_ you snarl, a cold heat, "is _exactly_ why you should hate the rest of us."

Asgore would've flinched at you so casually including yourself with the rest of the humans, but it is clear to you now - it has been clear to you ever since you got Asriel killed - you and humanity are the same. _You_ are the epitome of humanity itself.

However, Toriel just smiles sadly. "You do not give yourself enough credit, my child."

(Something about the tone she addresses you reminds you of the day you fell down, and how she was the first person to ever call you her child, not her son or daughter, and how warm and grateful you felt that day, and the memory pushes you closer towards the edge.)

"No," you snap at her, meaning every word, "you just give me _too much."_

And there is something in that smile of hers, and in that flinch, when you bare your teeth furiously - like a rabid animal - that would normally make you feel guilty, that would cause a pang in your heart, but-

It's Asriel.

It's Asriel, and he's dead, and he's _her son._

How can she put his death aside to defend that rotten _thing_ that caused his death?

(How can she put his death aside to defend _you?)_

She was his _mother,_ damn it! _She_ should be the one to grieve the loudest! _She_ should be the one to thirst most for revenge! _She_ should be the one hit by his death of them all!

The kingdom is grieving. Asgore is losing his calm too! And you! You don't even know where to start putting the pieces of you together - or even if you _want to!_

The only thing that's been keeping your feet firmly on the ground, is your anger, your rage, your fury, and it's all boiling inside, spilling at random moments, exploding, tearing you apart - to which, you think, _good. Let it._

 _Let it haunt me for the eternity I didn't get to spend dead._

 _Let there be consequences._

And seeing Toriel acting so casually so soon after his death, so... _lovingly._ Offering _forgiveness..._

It makes you feel sick to your stomach.

So, promptly, you tell her, and all the venom is in your voice, "you make me feel sick to my stomach," and you regret it instantly, but _don't._

Upon hearing a muffled sob, but still refusing to look up, you can almost feel the disgust that Asriel would feel about you.

(Then you tell the little voice in your head that reminds you, _Asriel wouldn't. No matter what. He was too good, too innocent, to feel that about_ anybody, _even you,_ to shut the fuck up.)

Toriel backs away from you - you and your poisonous mouth - and, just like that, in a smoke of hot air, she's gone.

 _(It's not Asriel. That's you,_ the voice speaks up again and this time, you don't have enough fire enough in you to burn it out.)

oOo

Later, watching Asgore's heart breaking for the second time in a short while gives you one more reason to despise the very air you breathe.

A broken king ruling a broken kingdom full of broken people. Not far from a broken family.

oOo

You keep catching glimpses of him, in your dreams - but never seeing his face. Not his face, not his eyes, he's intangible, he's a ghost.

Perhaps, you muse between one dream and another, it is fitting, that way.

A punishment by a subconscious part of your mind wouldn't be a surprise, certainly.

He's a mist. He's a flash. He's fleeting. He's perishable. He's smoke. He's sound. He's ashes scattered in the wind. He's gone, he's gone, he's gone.

 _(He's ashes. You're wind.)_

And when you wake up, you realize-

-you can no longer recall him as he was, when he was his true self.

Instead, your memories carry the abomination you both became a part of, the abomination that tainted his sweet, forgotten self.

You remember him tall and mighty, and you're not sure if he used to be taller or shorter than you. You remember his dark and void eyes, but aren't sure what color they were before he absorbed your soul. (Brown? _Red?_ -No, those are yours. You can't remember, you just _can't_ remember.) You recall the violet tunic, not the shirt you knitted for him. _(Toriel knitted for him? For both of you?_ Just _which one of you was it?!)_

You only remember his locket, same as yours.

So, when you wake up one night from a dream - a nightmare - full of hands and knives and spears and dust, you throw your locket somewhere - _anywhere -_ just - _away -_ to kill the last remnant of him in your heart.

(Not sure what you were expecting, perhaps a ghost of ease, or a sense of peace. Instead, you became emptier than ever, and the gravity doesn't loosen a single bit. Except it does, and it scatters you in every direction - the same way the wind scattered Asriel's remains.)

(And Asgore keeps dreaming of Toriel, and you became his only constant, only family, and, you can see it in his eyes - he's dreading the day a human falls down, because he knows he can never break his promise to you, no matter how much he might want to.)

oOo

When that day finally comes - too late for your taste and too soon for Asgore's - you remember only your guilt, crowned by grief you swallowed in a fit of rage and fury.

Gripping Asgore's trident, you stare into the fear written in their eyes and think, _good. I'll give you something to fear, alright._

When their guts spill all over your face, you feel _alive._


	2. learning how to rise and fall

**title:** learning how to rise and fall  
 **series:** by no means, part 2  
 **word count:** 2,338 words  
 **summary:** "That night," your voice is quiet – but sharp. Asgore doesn't react. "Mine and Asriel's souls fused, and for a single moment… we were one being, truly in sync with each other. Our soul resonated as one, our heart was beating as one, and our mind was one."  
Asgore's breath hitches. "Chara," his voice sounds pained. "You _remember_ that?"  
"The thing is," you speak up once more. "When we died as one, so did our soul."  
 **warnings:** chara's mental state, angst  
 **author's note:** since english isn't my first language, please let me know if there are any mistakes or typos.

oOo

 **learning how to rise and fall**

oOo

You are fifteen, when you realize, one day, that you look the same, as if time itself froze that fateful day, as if it was avoiding you, not daring to leave any marks on you.

It is an ordinary day, you think; one, that will fade from your memory soon enough; when you make a mistake of looking into that damn mirror.

You rarely do so, nowadays, harboring intense _hatred_ for your reflection, for everything that you're hiding behind your eyes, for everything that you feel under your skin... You can pretend that you don't feel wrong, and you can pretend that you don't deserve feeling wrong, but nothing will ever change the fact that you _do._

True, you felt that wrongness before, but ever since you came back, that feeling _intensified_ by hundreds.

But you can avoid mirrors only so often, and sometimes, you catch yourself stealing a glance of your reflection. Though, you have to admit, you've gotten pretty good at pretending they doesn't exist, lately.

Which is _why_ your reflection startles you, and you're looking into the same red almond-shaped eyes, that have caused great unease in your old village - you remember a flash of a memory, and suppress it immediately - and your skin is paper white, all fragile-looking, freckles all over your rosy cheeks and button-like nose, and your lips are tightly pressed together in a thin line, complimenting the frown you're wearing, corners of your mouth slightly curled downwards. (You recall people constantly asking you if you're sad, then, later, if you're angry. You felt none of those until Asriel's death, you felt empty.) And your hair is the same auburn color, neatly cut, reaching just under your chin, and you remember it looked red in the sunlight, matching your eyes. Here, in the Underground, you haven't seen that color in four years.

Which is _the_ thought that sets you off.

Four years... such a long time since you fell. It is nearing three years since your deaths - yours and Asriel's - and, against all the odds; the person looking at you from the mirror is not a stranger.

Paintings fade, and houses crumble, and knives dull with time.

But not you.

 _You_ are just as sharp now, as you were that day.

Flowers wither, and people die, and monsters disintegrate.

Yet you stay the same.

Children grow.

 _Except you don't._

(You cannot progress, and, perhaps, you think, that is the reason you cannot let yourself let go of him.

 _And perhaps,_ you snap at yourself, _it's just a convenient excuse, you pathetic whelp._ )

You're fifteen-going-on-twelve, and you're a kid, but you're _not._

oOo

Asgore offers you his golden flower tea, a soft ghost of smile on his face.

The appearance of the flowers reminds you _strongly_ of buttercups, but the taste is different. Its taste is bitter, a reminder of where the flowers come from and how it came to the Underground.

"Asgore," you speak suddenly, which is very uncharacteristic of you.

He looks at you from across the table, and nods. "Yes. What is it, Chara?" His voice is deep and weary, and shadows loom behind his golden eyes. It doesn't look like he got enough sleep last night... but, then again, you suppose it isn't that surprising.

You say, "I noticed something this morning."

Asgore quirks an eyebrow, humming softly.

"I'm not aging," you answer his silent question. You have gotten pretty good at reading him, if you do say so yourself.

"That is," Asgore frowns, "disconcerting. I was under impression humans age in constant speed?"

You nod. "We do. We should be."

"Hmm."

"But I still look twelve. I haven't aged a single day since I died."

His face darkens even further, and you hate making him feel that way. Asgore is about the only family you have left in this world. But this is _important._

"I am not sure if I can help you with your problem, Chara. Monsters age quite differently - we age with our children. It is a matter of our souls. The more our children grow, the more we age, and then they become adults, the energies of our souls reach zero, and we die."

"So the more children you have, the sooner you die?" you ask, catching on.

"Precisely. It is because we are not physical, thus we cannot have children in... a more traditional way, like the humans do."

It makes sense, you think. Monsters are dust held in a pseudo-physical shape by their souls. The frequency of the soul resonates with the rest and gives them conscience, which is exactly the reason for their psychological and emotional stability. Emotions, you could argue, is all that the monsters are.

"We lost... a lot of people, when Asriel died," you whisper softly, "didn't we?"

To which he blinks. "Why would you say so?"

"A lot of people would be upset if they lost their beloved prince, wouldn't they?"

But what you're really asking, is, _a lot of our people would suffer unbearable damage to their conscience, to their heart, if they knew there is no way of leaving the Underground in peace, wouldn't they? And isn't their psyche the only tangible part of them?_

And Asgore understands. "They were. We did."

He can read you just as well as _you_ can read _him,_ and you're not sure what to do with the realization. Be glad, be sad, be terrified.

It is with matters like these, that make you... somewhat grateful to be human. Being human makes this never-ending _ignore-pretend-continue-live_ cycle easier.

"So... a soul, huh," you say slowly, an idea forming in your mind. "So, for the monsterkind, aging is directly connected to their souls. Maybe…" you pause, unsure, how to word your next sentence, that is a mere theory, _an idea_ you got after Asgore's explanation. Unsure, how to feel about it, you say, hesitantly, "what if humans aren't as different as we think?"

"It _is_ true, that human souls are extremely strong," Asgore allows, his gaze fixated on a blank space on a wall, almost looking _behind it_ – or, perhaps _through._

You pull him out of his flashback with a polite cough. When the spell breaks, he turns away. But not quick enough – and you catch his shadowed expression that makes him look so weary and old. _He's as desperate as I am,_ you realize, _maybe even more so._ He must be one of the monsters that were originally sealed here, all those centuries ago.

"That night," your voice is quiet – but sharp. Asgore doesn't react. "Mine and Asriel's souls fused, and for a single moment… we were one being, truly in sync with each other." Something in your chest suddenly becomes heavy, and your throat is tight. Yet, you continue. You _need_ to. "Our soul resonated as one, our heart was beating as one, and our mind was one."

Asgore's breath hitches. "Chara," his voice sounds pained. "You _remember that?"_

"Yes," you answer simply, hoping your voice sounds neutral. "I remember dying and then I remember not being me anymore. When we died as one, I could not remember myself in death, nor I could remember Asriel. Though… his presence – or perhaps his memory – I'm not sure, I cannot remember that time clearly – brought me back."

Silence.

"We wondered, Toriel and I," he mutters, "but you never said anything."

"Yeah."

It's heavy, this honest conversation. The words are harder and harder to find the more truthful you are. You guess it's appropriate.

"The thing is," you speak up once more. "When we died as one, so did our soul. It shattered, and we were no more. Asriel was no more. Chara was no more. I…"

"Yes?" he encourages you, sensing your hesitation.

 _Might as well,_ you decide.

"I haven't been exactly myself since I died. But. I was awakened – or a shadow of what I used to be."

"And you stopped aging."

"Yes."

"So you believe you are soulless."

"Yes."

"Is that even possible?"

"Possibly. Can't be sure until I get a definite proof."

"How about initiating a fight?" he suggests. "Monsters can draw out your soul, so if there truly is nothing to summon, we will know."

You nod. "Yes. This is precisely what I had in my mind."

"But only if you're sure about this, Chara."

"I _am,"_ you keep pressing. "I need to do this."

He huffs out, "I understand."

Asgore takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the frequency of his own soul. You can feel powerful aura arise around him, all of the sudden, and the intensity of it hits you hard, making it hard for you to breathe. It's _intimidating._ No wonder he's a king, you think.

It occurs to you, _he must've been a terrifying force during the war._

Then, something invisible yanks your insides, as if searching for something. Your soul, you pressume. The pressure keeps getting bigger and bigger – you pant, you gasp, your eyes go wide – and it _doesn't_ stop.

Then the world turns black, leaving only yourself and Asgore present.

It lasts only a second – _you_ last only a second before you fall apart.

Screaming, you keep falling and falling, and black goes void and Asgore disappears, and there's _nothing –_ no ground, no air, no sound, no Asgore, no you.

Nothing.

oOo

You're facing a shadow.

"So you are here again," says a soft, distorted voice. "I wondered how long you would last," they say in a whisper.

"Who are you?!" you bark out, shifting into a defensive position, your hands in fists and ready to hit. _Where are the knives when you need them?_

Laughter.

It sends chills down your spine.

"Surprising. So not even you remember," they trail off. "No matter. We _will_ meet again, little dreamer. Now it's time to wake up."

And then the world comes back to you all at once.

oOo

Someone is shouting your name.

A soft breeze brushes against your cheek, and oxygen fills your lung and as you are exhaling, your eyes open. _Too bright._ And your ears are ringing, and the next thing you notice is a pressure on your shoulders. Your gaze travels to your left arm – a soft, big hand is holding you.

A shout, again, "Chara!"

Then, a tight, bone-crushing hug.

But your body is numb and you do not embrace Asgore in return. You're just… there.

When he lets you out, his eyes are warm. Asgore looks like he's barely holding tears. Then he shakes his head, and smiles – and that look is gone.

Blunt as ever, you say, "I was dead… wasn't I?"

And Asgore doesn't answer – his hands are gripping yours, as if he is trying to reassure himself you're not gone, and you don't deserve his love.

 _If only he knew._

"Huh," you think aloud, and when you realize this, you feel a lot more vulnerable, all of the sudden. Since when did you get so comfortable at expressing yourself openly? "I think we can confirm it by now. I cannot die."

Three times you died. Three times you lived.

"Chara," he mumbles. "There was _nothing_ I could summon."

But you already knew.

"It's alright," you smile, and you want to soothe his fears. "I'll make do with that nothing. I already have, so far."

And it's a promise between the two of you, _I won't let you shoulder your burden alone. I won't let you lose me, so I will not lose myself. And I won't let me lose you. You don't deserve loneliness, and I don't deserve getting mine._

No words need to be uttered. The spell doesn't need to be broken.

oOo

Like every Thursday, you visit Asriel's shrine in the Waterfall. He used to _love_ Thursdays.

You could never understand his irrational love for the day, so you used to argue with him, because seeing him get all defensive, his conviction on par with your determination, gave you life. It amused you and it frustrated him – but you couldn't be fooled – you knew, he seceretely loved bantering with you as well.

So you would tell him, that the Thursdays are useless, what in the world makes them so special? And you would cross your arms as if to prove your point.

 _You don't understand,_ he would frown at you disapprovingly. _Thursdays are the midpoint of the week!_

Well, you would shrug, that is the common idea – and I don't see how it would prove your point.

Anything _can happen on Thursday,_ he would lecture you with that smart voice of his you fell in love with. _Something good could happen on Thursday and turn a bad week around and make it better._

Yeah, you would agree, rolling your eyes. And you could fuck up a perfectly good week, too!

Which would _annoy_ Asriel to death. _Hey!_ he would exclaim. _Stop being so pessimistic all the time! And don't use that kind of language – you know Mom doesn't like it._

Stop trying to be a bigger person, you squirt, you would pat him on his head, even though he was only an inch shorter than you.

He _absolutely_ hated being called short by _you,_ which is exactly the reason you kept doing it. Spite still is a half of your motivation, even now.

 _An inch!_ he would exclaim. _And wait till I grow up, I'll be taller than you in no time!_

And you would laugh freely, and think, This is the closest I ever was, to being happy.

 _You would be, Asriel,_ you agree with the memory of him, _if you didn't die on a Thursday._

oOo

Constant.

Even.

This needs to end.

You can't die and you can't win, but you'll be damned if you won't keep trying

"I've decided," you say on a Friday morning, voice firm. "I want to become your heir. I want you to train me."

Asgore nods, and his stance is reflecting yours.

And then, there's the shift – the one you were waiting for all along.


	3. kill their light, part 1

**title:** kill their light, part 1  
 **series:** by no means, part 3  
 **word count:** 1,115 words  
 **summary:** Chara is determined. See, they have a goal in their mind, the one they're determined to reach no matter what; and they won't let anything get in its way - not even a chance at making peace with their past.  
 **warnings:** pretty much the usual, chara's issues, grief + angst  
 **note:** i just realized i had forgot to update by no means on ff net. oops.

oOo

 **kill their light, part 1**

oOo

"Again!" a shout escapes your throat, your voice hoarse.

There is fire in your lungs; and the world is changing hues; and you feel, like any instant now, your legs are going to fall off. Waves of hot and hotter wash over you, and you're sure your entire face is red by now.

You're gasping.

With a back of your hand, you try to dry off your sweaty forehead, before snapping into the position, your eyes narrowing, hand gripping the knife tighter. The ground feels more solid than a minute ago, and... you feel satisfied.

Your moves are becoming more fluid with every minute you train, and there is confidence where once has been hesitation. Feels _exhilarating._ To drink in that atmosphere, a promise of violence. The images of blood and spilled guts - your goal - keep you moving despite any limitations.

Your body is weak. Young and forever frozen in time, unchanging. And though your heart beats and your lungs breathe - surely, you aren't truly alive. _How can I be, when there is no death waiting for me, in the future - far or near?_

You aren't human, not anymore. Not a monster, either.

Born a human and died a monster's death. Of blood, of ashes - you are something in between.

It is not at all strange, or surprising, that the lack of your humanity comes as a comfort to you instead of a problem. It fits you. The immortality thing, though, _is_ quite unsettling, but if it means you'll outlive any of those foul creatures on the surface, you're pretty content with that.

So you keep running, and walking, and crawling, no matter the obstacles.

No matter your exhaustion.

(You don't even have to sleep, you discovered, but your body works better if you do.)

So with a tightening grip on the handle of the dagger Asgore usually uses for planting the flowers in the garden, you correct your stance.

 _Keep your legs wide as to maintain the balance._

 _Keep the tension in your arms, your left hidden behind, ready to unsheathe the knife that is hidden behind your belt._

 _Keep your center of the gravity lower than when relaxed._

 _Keep looking and analyzing and anticipating._

Most of all, keep resisting.

It takes only a graze of Asgore's magic, pathetic compared to all his might, to call your soul. As usual, his summon only steals your breath - but that's okay, you don't need it. Having already died _does_ have its perks. So if you get past that instinct that urges you to inhale oxygen you don't need, you will be alright.

 _I will not try to breathe,_ you remind yourself.

Resisting your own breath is somewhat similar to resisting whatever comes after - whatever keeps pulling you into death. Similar to death, breathing is unnecessary, and if you can learn to avoid one, you can learn to avoid the other.

It is fire.

It is fire and collapse and fall and implosion, and it is painful, so, so very painful.

 _But it is_ nothing _compared to the buttercup poisoning! I have endured worse._

So you refuse to give in - and at the moment, there is _nothing_ in this world that you're incapable of doing.

Your field of vision clears out, sharp and steady. Taking a step towards Asgore, one after another, you recognize the look in his eyes as pride, and something inside your chest responds. But there is no time to be happy about your accomplishment. Sure, you're a step closer to your goal, but there is still a long way to go. You might not have passed out, but you still need to learn to fight in that state.

You charge ahead, aware of every single movement your body makes. The focus on Asgore allows you to see detail of his steady position, but blurs everything else round it. No matter, you can work with it just fine.

And though you're fast and determined, when you're expecting a clash, there is only a hard ground with its impact against your jaw.

How...?

 _He must've predicted my movements like they were nothing._

Attempting to cough isn't a very good idea, but your body doesn't listen to your conscious commands. Asgore must be aware of it, because in a flicker of a light - his magic - your breath has been released and your lughs are once again filled with oxygen.

Amazing.

Asgore fighting is just... amazing. And on a completely different level, too.

"Wow," you gasp out loud, a trace of a smile forming on your lips. "That was something!"

He comes up to you. "You were," he agrees with a huff. Then he crouches down and offers you a hand.

"Nah, I haven't even stood a chance," you shrug, taking his hand, helping you stand up.

"But you did - you _did_ manage to stay conscious throughout the entire Soul Call."

"Well," you consider his words, "yeah. Pretty good, right?" And then your grin is _wide_ and toothy, and your cheeks hurt a little, unaccustomed to smiling. "I figured out the trick to it."

Asgore prompts you with a smile, "Hmm?"

"Yeah. It's all about patience and stubbornness!"

"I imagine the abundance of latter makes up for the lack of former, eh?" a subtle jab, and Asgore's eyes are _twinkling,_ which you haven't seen for a long time. Your own eyes widen when you notice this.

"I'll have you _know_ that I'm very patient, _thank you very much,"_ you roll your eyes and pout, pretend-offended. "In _fact,_ I bet I could out-patience you!"

A thought crosses your mind, _That was such an Asriel thing to say._ You can almost hear your stand-offish past self roll their eyes and point out, that _no such verb exists, Ree._

To which he would respond, _Do I look like I chara,_ with this gleeful gleam in his look.

 _Asriel, you savage,_ you would groan and snort and shake your head at his pun.

Asgore replies, "Well, I am certainly glad you're humble as ever."

"Ouch," you grin even wider. "What's up with that sarcasm, Asgore?"

"Well, you're not the only one who has learned a few tricks." His eyes are sparkling, and his smile is widening with every moment, which makes your chest lighter and lighter.

A barky laugh escapes your lips. "You must be _really_ proud of yourself, then."

"Whaddya say," he winks. "I am."

You're both sweaty, and tired; and the distant chirping of birds from beyond the barrier fades in your loud laughter and friendly joking. And somehow, moments later, you find yourselves lying in the flowers like two shattered pieces that belong to the same whole.

You close your eyes, for a while, and think, _I'm home._


End file.
